Read Online Dragon Castle by Joseph Bruchac - Free Book Online

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    â€œGo, Peklo.” The blond ruffian makes a rude gesture with his fingers. “You get that wench. But the next one’s mine.”
    Peklo’s smile turns into a wide grin showing yellowed teeth. He tosses his knife aside and rises eagerly to his feet.
    By the head of the dragon! I turn and dash down the stairs, fearing I will be too late.
    In a way, I am. By the time I burst through the courtyard entryway, the scene is playing out without me. Georgi is already here. He must have been watching just as I was. Despite the fact that he’s burdened by a large pot and two long cloths slung around his neck, he’s managed to place himself between Charity and Temny’s men before Peklo could get to her.
    Peklo reaches around Georgi to grab Charity’s shoulder. However, before Peklo’s rough fingers can grasp her, Georgi trips. The steaming contents of the iron pot pour down Peklo’s chest. The iron pot lands on the burly man’s forward foot.
    â€œArrgggh!” Peklo roars, hopping on one foot while trying to wipe hot soup from his front.
    It’s rather an amusing spectacle, but I keep myself from laughing out.
    Peklo’s companions, though, who saw it all happen and assume it’s just an accident, are roaring with mirth.
    â€œPeklo, save some of that soup for us, you greedy beast.”
    â€œFirst bath you’ve had in a month!”
    Georgi hisses a word into Charity’s ear. Whitefaced, she nods, runs swiftly back across the yard and through the servants’ entrance to the castle. There’s a thud and the rattle of a bolt as she slams and locks the door behind her.
    I relax and lean back against the wall. My sword is belted around my waist now. I’m close enough to come to Georgi’s rescue if necessary. But I have a feeling my help may not be needed.
    â€œOh sir, good sir,” Georgi is saying. “ Prepac, prepac . Sorry, sorry. So clumsy of me. All that fine turnip soup Cook prepared for you and your men.”
    â€œAcchhhh!” Peklo replies, still hopping. “Acchhh!”
    His vocabulary is clearly limited by his rage and the pain in his big toe. He reaches out for Georgi like a praying mantis grabbing at an irritating fly.
    At this point any other servant who spilled soup all over a violent man would flee or cower down to absorb blows from said scalded ruffian. But Georgi is not any other servant.
    â€œOh good sir, here. Allow me to dry you.”
    Georgi ducks under Peklo’s grasping hands, and deftly loops one of those two long cloths he is carrying around the angry brute. Another loop, then another. It pins Peklo’s huge-muscled arms to his sides. He’s unable to strike, grasp, or strangle.
    Georgi holds the ends of that wrapped cloth in place with one hand that is, as I’ve already mentioned, far stronger than anyone who does not know him would suspect.
    â€œAllow me to clean your face, good sir.”
    As he awkwardly wipes Peklo’s face with the other cloth, I cannot help but observe that Georgi is doing an excellent job of getting more of the soup into the bully’s eyes.
    I fold my arms, keeping one eye on the crowd of toughs at the far end of the courtyard. Not one of them has stirred to assist their leader. They’re even more amused.
    â€œY’ look like a baby all wrapped up in his swaddling clothes,” one wit shouts.
    â€œLet your old nurse wipe your bum, Peklo!”
    â€œOh, good sir,” Georgi babbles in his most servile voice, rubbing boiled turnips into Peklo’s ears. “So sorry, sir, so sorry.”
    â€œVolne mi!” Peklo screams. “Free me!” He staggers back and forth, trying to extricate himself from the cocoon of cloth.
    â€œ Ano, good sir,” Georgi steps back and pulls hard at the cloth wrapped about Peklo. Peklo spins like an oversize top, ending up on his knees. By the time he rises to his feet, Georgi is gone.
    His face red, not